


sing.

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel
Genre: Amnesia, Choking, Consent Issues, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Kissing, M/M, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 11:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: The Grandmaster has a simple request.





	sing.

"I don’t sing,” Loki murmurs. The Grandmaster watches him for a long few moments, frowning slightly, and he leans in. Loki is lying back on a chaise long, occasionally sipping from the bitter cocktail the Grandmaster had brought for him, and the Grandmaster leans in, dragging his fingers over Loki’s jaw.

“Whaddya– What do you  _mean_ , sweetheart?” the Grandmaster asks, and his fingers play a little lower, delicately stroking the long column of Loki’s throat. “You… These pipes, they seem, um, pretty  _good_  to me. Pretty healthy. What, you got a nasty singing voice? Screechy? You tonedeaf?”

“I don’t see why it matters,” Loki murmurs, sliding his hand over the back of the Grandmaster’s own and squeezing delicately. “I entertain you in other ways, don’t I, Grandmaster?” He takes hold of the other man’s hand, trying to drag it over his chest and down between his legs, but the Grandmaster holds his hand fast, keeping his fingers pressed against Loki’s throat. 

“You, um, you  _entertain_  me, baby, however I want to be entertained,” the Grandmaster whispers, his words delicately settling on the air between them, and Loki feels himself swallow. He is even more aware of the pressure on his throat as he gulps down the lump in his  throat, and he does his best to keep himself from shivering.

“I don’t sing,” he repeats. The Grandmaster’s hand presses down, his palm spread over the cool skin of Loki’s neck, his thumb digging into the side, and Loki lets out a quiet grunt of noise. “Grandmaster, I am asking you–”

“Mmm, I’m asking  _you_ , honey,” the Grandmaster interrupts, and his expression brooks no room for Loki to delicately shift away and out from underneath the demand, no room for Loki to  _joke_  even. “I want you to–”

“ _Why_?” Loki asks, cutting through the Grandmaster’s repetition. “Why do you need me to sing? You have plenty of singers, plenty–” Loki chokes. The Grandmaster squeezes  _hard_ , so hard that Loki cannot even make a noise as he grips desperately at the Grandmaster’s wrist and tries to lean back into the couch to get away from his grip, feeling the  _pain_  and the pressure on his throat. 

“You gonna sing for me, baby?” the Grandmaster asks, darkly. What has him in such a foul mood, of today, Loki knows not, but it frightens him, to see the Grandmaster so  _immovable_. “Or, ha. Or are you and me, um… Gonna have a  _disagreement_?”

Reluctantly, feeling disgust pool within his belly, Loki nods his head as much as he can whilst held in the Grandmaster’s grip. The Grandmaster opens his hand, and he looks Loki in the face.

“ _Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear_ –” the Grandmaster sings, his voice low and resonant, and it vibrates within Loki’s very chest. He hesitates for a long few moments before he relents. This is a ridiculous song, some Midgardian song that comes from their genre of  _jazz_ , and much as he is assured its lyrics are metaphorical, they remain… cartoonish.

 _“And he shows them, pearly white, just a jack-knife has old Mac Heath, babe, and he keeps it out of sight…”_ The Grandmaster’s lips part, his brow furrowing, and he stares down at Loki, his hand going slack.

“Lo-Lo,” he says, the picture of surprise. “You can  _sing_.”

“I don’t like to,” Loki says.

“Why not?”

“I used to sing to my children,” Loki says. “Every night, I used to.” 

“That’s the past, honey,” the Grandmaster murmurs. “That’s, uh, that’s a long time ago. You don’t want to forget about all that, hmm? You don’t wanna… Don’t tell me you don’t want to be  _happy_.” He’s angling for something, Loki knows, angling for something he knows Loki will not want to assent to: his heart aches dully in his chest, and anew he grieves for his children,  _grieves_  for them, ripped from his breast…

“I don’t…” Loki trails off, and the Grandmaster’s fingers play gentle circles over his neck, the movements soft and soothing. “I don’t know.”

“Mmm, I– I don’t like to see you so, uh, so  _sad_ , baby,” the Grandmaster murmurs, and he catches Loki’s mouth under his own, kissing him sweetly, so sweetly that Loki feels as if he is floating upon a cloud. He lets out a soft noise, leaning up and into the Grandmaster’s mouth, sliding his hands over the golden lamé of the Grandmaster’s robe, and when the Grandmaster pulls slightly away, his lips make a wet noise against Loki’s own. “I just wanna… I’d love to hear you sing some more, honey. I’d love to see you… forget all those, ha, all those  _nasty_  memories.”

The Grandmaster is pressing something against Loki’s mouth, and Loki hesitates as he feels the round curve of the pill against his lower lip. His eyes are glittering with charm, and Loki wants to - Norns, he wants to,  _Norns_ …

“Are you sure?” Loki says softly. “I don’t know that I’m– I don’t know that I would be myself, Grandmaster. Without my memories. You might not like the result.” It’s the last-ditch attempt, the only weak protestation that will come to Loki’s traitorous, tarnished silver tongue, and the Grandmaster remains unmoving.

“I like  _you_ , sweetheart,” the Grandmaster says. “Take it.”

What more has Loki to lose?

He has given over his body, his dignity, he has given the Grandmaster his life… What matter is it, if he gives over his memory as well?

After a long hesitation, Loki opens his mouth, and he feels the pill froth upon his tongue. As soon as he swallows, the Grandmaster kisses him again, and Loki lets it all fade away. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up on Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


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